


Scent of a memory, curse of a touch

by OddmentsandTweaks



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: All these tags are higgledy piggledy bc I was trying to cover as much as possible, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief suicidal thoughts, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Kidnapping, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashback, Fluff and Angst, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Jon Sims gets a godamn hug, Jon blames himself for what happens, Jon gets triggered into remembering his time at the circus, Jon hates his many scars, Jon really doesn't think much of himself, Kidnapping, M/M, Martin does his best, Martin gently explains why none of what happened with Nikola is actually Jon's fault, Martin gives the best hugs, Nikola Orsinov is the worst, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consenual Moisturising, Panic Attacks, Reassurances, Self-Esteem Issues, Set during safe-house times, Spoilers for S3, The non-con is Jon getting moisturised against his will nothing else, There is a lot of comfort here guys I promise, Touch-Starved, Victim Blaming, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24118570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddmentsandTweaks/pseuds/OddmentsandTweaks
Summary: During their time in the safe house Jon gets accidentally triggered into remembering his time with the circus, the way Nikola ensured his skin was up to her standards ahead of the Dance of the Unknowing. It was not a fun time.Martin figures out what the culprit was and does his best to comfort and reassure Jon in the aftermath of that recollection.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 35
Kudos: 374





	Scent of a memory, curse of a touch

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is much darker material than I would usually write but this idea would not leave me alone. And if I ever do write angst and hurt you bet there will be a metric fluff-tonne of comfort to follow. 
> 
> Please read the tags though, there is mention of victim blaming and brief suicidal thoughts as well as non-consenual touching. Everything between Martin and Jon is fully consenual and loving, everything here is just reassuring cuddling.

It was dark in the room, just the vague outlines of misshapen wax figures, all the more horrifying in the gloom, the dimness allowing the imagination to conjure far more grotesque visages that leered and sneered at him.

All Jon was truly aware of was how hard the chair was that he was tied to, how tightly the ropes bit into his wrists and ankles, how miserably alone he felt, how guilty he was that he didn’t give Georgie a proper explanation and how he’d probably worried her again. She deserved better.

“Your skin is in such terrible condition Archivist. We’re going to fix that otherwise it almost won’t be worth us peeling you.”

Oh, and Nikola Orsinov. He was aware of her gloating at him in that stolen sing-song voice of hers, dancing elegantly and inhumanly in front of him. Her words splintered like cut glass across him.

Honestly, despite everything, Jon had really hoped she had just been saying that for effect.

As it was, hours or maybe days later, it was hard to tell in the circus she was back with several mannequins. Bound and gagged as he was Jon wasn’t really in a position to do anything about this. He couldn’t help feel the fear prickle through him. So this was it. He was going to die in the circus and end up helping the ritual he’d been trying so hard to stop. It was just another addition to the cruel irony his life had become.

“Oh, don’t look so worried Archivist! We’re not here to kill you yet! No! We’re going to do something about that awful dry skin of yours. Lift him up.”

A surprised cry tried to escape his throat as his bonds were cut and he was hauled up to his feet in a frighteningly swift movement. He began to struggle futilely, even as the feeling of pins and needles coursed through his suddenly mobile limbs but the grip of the mannequins far too strong for his exhausted frame to break through. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how truly scared he was. He tried to look furious instead.

“No, no, this won’t do. We can’t get to all that much of you like this. Strip him.”

It took half a second for the sheer horror of that sentence to process before he gave up all pretence of trying to look stoic. NO. No no no no no. This was arguably worse that dealing with Jude. Even as his hand still throbbed and ached. No! He wouldn't, he couldn't stand this. This was a deepening nightmare. Jon roared in horror, shaking his head violently, the sound somewhat muffled by the gag but the feeling behind it all too clear. He thrashed and writhed in their grip, adrenaline surging through him as he fought desperately to keep their hands from him.

Hard fingers, unforgiving plastic seized the waistband of his jeans and underwear as well as the collars of his jumper and shirt as Jon continued to fight, howling in the base of his throat, begging, screaming for someone to rescue him, garbled names unclear through the wadding. He didn’t care if it was undignified. Maybe if he screamed loud enough they’d come. He couldn’t lose his last line of defence. He didn’t want to known, be seen and paraded. His scarred skin was his shame and his alone. He couldn’t have that taken from him.

Not after everything else.

“Now, now. We’re not going to hurt you Archivist. And we won’t ruin your clothes. You just don’t need them right now. Hush.”

Jon shook his head wildly, begging her with blocked voice and pleading eyes, absolutely and completely terrified.

She smiled widely at him with lips that weren’t hers.

With that the fabric was torn from him.

Jon couldn’t help the tears that sprang into his eyes. He refused to let them fall.

One act of defiance he could manage, trying to hold himself together, to brace for what was to come but he couldn't shake the all-encompassing feeling. He felt so very small and so very, very helpless, held in place and on show for the horrific mannequin’s scrutiny. He hated the vulnerability of being seen, all his physical flaws on display for all to see. So much scarring. He hated the way it marked his skin. He could barely stand mirrors at home and now he was bared for a full audience.

All his failures on full display.

For one wild second he wished the ground would open up and claim him, it couldn’t be worse than what was happening right now.

Nikola viewed him with a critical gaze, “Hmm, what a pity there isn’t more of you. You could do with feeding Archivist, then we’d have more to cure. And what a shame you have so many scars, they’ve pock-marked your skin so much, it’s quite unsightly." If she could have wrinkled her nose disdainfully at him she would have. Jon caught the intentionall the same, it made something in him shrivel up further. "You really should have taken more care of yourself. I think it’s a kindness we’re going to be removing this from you soon.” She sighed theatrically, tutting before brightening.

Jon felt his heart seize. Even if they didn’t tear his skin off this was going to be unbearable. They were going to violate him and no matter was Nikola said it _was_ going to hurt physically or metaphysically or both it didn’t matter. The panic trebled his heart rate.

“Oh well, we don’t have time for that so we will just have to work with what we’ve got.”

“Please,” Jon tried to beg through the gag, not caring if he was supposed to be upholding the stoic mask of head archivist. He was terrified and desperate, breath beginning to catch in his throat constricting his chest, “please don’t—”

Hands descended on him in a flurry, salving and slathering him in thick moisturisers smelling overwhelmingly of cucumber and aloe vera. The hands didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as he’d been expecting but that was almost worse. He couldn’t stop them. There was nothing he could do to stop any of this. And save from a few hugs from Georgie this was the most non-painful physical contact he’d had for months. He felt what was left of his soul break a little more at that realisation. He shut his eyes, not wanting to see or _know_ what they were doing to him.

He could still hear Orsinov laughing at him though, laughing at his misery and his frantic attempts to escape.

“You’re so wriggly Archivist, surely this is nice for you. Getting your poor skin looked after. Maybe if you’d taken better care of it we wouldn’t be doing this. This is your fault after all.”

Perversely, the hands could even be described as gentle, given what he was used when encountering other entities, but a more accurate term was _thorough_.

Every part of him was covered.

He still fought, more for the sake of it at this point, he didn’t want to submit, didn’t want to accept any of this invasion. If he fought, at least, well, he’d tried, and that was something. Surely? He was so tired, but this fresh humiliation cut him far deeper than Michael’s talons.

Maybe this was some sort of punishment for how he’d treated the others? Not listened and stalked and pushed making them more and more uncomfortable. This was having the one thing he wanted, that he _needed_ , physical contact, a caring gentle touch and have it twisted into a way that made his stomach churn with disgust and shame.

Finally, after what felt like hours the hands stopped touching him. They dropped him exhausted to the floor. His clothes were dragged back onto him by inexperienced hands but he was too tired to even try snatching anything back for himself, he couldn’t even lift his hand to remove his spit-soaked gag. In another terrible moment of irony they ended up dressing him as though he were a rag doll, hollowed out and discarded.

When he tried to stand on his own he was seized again mercilessly, re-tied to the chair as though nothing had happened. Reminding him of how small and weak he truly was. Maybe Basira shouldn’t have stopped Daisy, he was just a liability after all.

“There Archivist, that wasn’t so bad was it? I think if we do this a few times a day you’ll be perfectly ready to assist us! See you later!”

She marched off, her awful minions following in step leaving Jon alone once more, the scent of cucumber and aloe vera swirling around him as he felt his skin, cool and slick, sticking to his clothes as his limbs began to tremble. When he could no longer hear their footsteps he allowed the tears he’d held back with everything he had left to fall properly. Bound and waiting for death and more abuse the Archivist sobbed, not even able to wipe the tears away crying for nobody but the silent wax faces to hear.

He lost count of the times they came back.

When Michael had appeared it hadn’t been all that hard of a choice to make really.

**************************************************************************************************************************

“Jon? Jon! Jon please! Come back to me, What is it? What’s the matter?!”

“Mar, Martin?” Jon’s gaze started to refocus it took him a minute to realise he wasn’t there any more, he was with Martin but were they _safe_?

His voice was small and so very scared.

“I’m here, what’s the matter? What happened? Is it the Eye?” Martin tried to reach out to Jon, to take his hand but The Archivist flinched back violently, his eyes blown wide with terror, he wasn’t truly _seeing_ Martin, wasn’t truly in the cottage with him.

“Okay," Martin backed off, keeping his voice low and reassuring, "okay no touching. No touching is fine. Just breathe with me Jon, just breath. It’s alright, everything is fine. You’re safe. I’m safe. We’re safe.”

Jon was obviously struggling, eyes still far too wide, breaths coming out fast and shallow.

“Okay Jon, I just need to watch what I'm doing, can you breathe with me please, breathe in for four seconds, that’s it, you can do it. Then hold it for seven seconds, that’s it, that’s great now I need you to breathe out for eight seconds. That’s it, keep going Jon, you’re doing fine.”

Jon followed the instructions, this was Martin, everything might be awful but Martin was here. He trusted Martin.

After a few more rounds it Jon calmed down enough to process exactly what the issue was even if it was hard to articulate.

“Jon, please, can you tell me what the matter is? Can you tell me if you want me near or away?” He’d never seen Jon like this, Martin wasn’t sure if this was a panic attack, a flashback or something else. He responded as though it was panic attack in the hope that it would help. If nothing else Jon’s breathing had slowed a little at least.

“A-Away.”

“Okay. I can do that.” Martin drew back a little.

“Is that better?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“Okay, that’s good. Can you tell me what it is? Are you scared? Of me?”

“S-S-scared, scared but not you, not you. It’s,” he swallowed, trying to find the words, why couldn’t he think? “Smell, the smell.”

“What smell? What is it? Can you tell me and I’ll do my best to get it away from you.”

“The lo—”he felt his stomach churn, he couldn’t finish the word, “fresh, fresh, _please_ Martin.”

“What, Jon, I don’t—” he stopped, thinking about what Jon was trying to say through almost insensible terror. ‘Lo- fresh.’?

It suddenly clicked.

“I will be right back.”

It broke his heart leave Jon curled up, back to the wall looking utterly terrified. But he had an idea what the matter was. He ran into the bathroom and scrubbed the aloe vera infused body lotion off his hands. It was a new bottle. He’d just picked it up from the shop on a casual thought that his hands were getting uncomfortably dry.

He scrubbed three times with the brush and bar of soap they had, plain soap. Safe hopefully, unscented just plain, clean soap.

He came back into the room carefully, relieved to see that Jon was looking marginally calmer.

“Okay, I’ve washed my hands a lot Jon, I think I’ve got the scent off them. Can I come a bit closer?”

“Oh-okay.”

Martin stepped cautiously over to Jon, not close enough to touch yet, giving Jon space and the option to withdraw or get closer depending on what he needed.

“Right, um, can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Jon began, already trying to withdraw looking embarassed. 

“No, don’t be sorry, it’s fine Jon, well, it’s _not_ but it’s okay that you are not okay right now. Can you explain what the problem was with the, er, lotion smell?”

Jon took a deep breath, trying to sniff surreptitiously. It didn’t work, Martin knew exactly what he was doing but didn’t mention it. Jon scented carefully but the aloe vera was gone.

He inched closer to Martin.

“Orsinov.”

“Oh.” The name hung heavily before Martin connected the dots, “OH. The, when you were, Jon, I’m so—”

“It’s alright.”

“No, no it’s not,” Bile rose up from the pit of Martin’s stomach, he swallowed it down viciously “you were kidnapped, for a month. And we didn’t know. We, we didn’t come for you.” Rage and shame coursed through him. They hadn’t helped, hadn't _known_ and Jon had been all on his own. It had taken the fucking _distortion_ to rescue him in the end. Elias was very much on the top of 'To murder if I ever get the chance to' list for what he'd done to all of them but especially for this. A whole month and he'd _known_. What an utter bastard. 

Jon gave him the ghost of a smile, trying to rally for Martin’s sake, “Be fair Martin, none of you were really wanting anything to do with me then, and rightly so, I’d betrayed your trust, _all_ of your trusts horribly. And I’d left you, all, I mean. And I was wanted for murder so it’s reasonable really—”

That was true, but Martin knew that wouldn’t have stopped him, he cut off the Archivist before he said anything else negative about himself, that was not going to help right now. “But still, Jon, if I’d’ve known, I would have come for you, I promise. I don’t know how we’d have got you out but I promise I would have tried.”

It was strange how that knowledge, even months after the fact, freely given settled in his heart and soothed it, just a fraction.

“I-Thank you. I, it, it sounds, after everything a silly thing to be bothered by now. It didn’t even hurt.”

“What didn’t hurt Jon?” Asked Martin gently, sensing this was the crux of the matter at hand.

Jon went wide-eyed again at the question, he looked up to face Martin’s gaze, one that was full of concern with no judgment, Jon found himself needing, _wanting_ to tell him, “They, um, she, she said my skin was bad, too, too scarred and dry and _unsightly_ and they had to fix it.”

Martin felt his chest tighten, carefully he reached out to place what he hoped was a comforting hand on Jon’s arm. He didn’t really want to ask, Jon had been very guarded about his scars. Martin knew, even now he didn’t like anyone to see them but it was probably something Jon should share, or at least, give him the opportunity to voice, “How did they propose to do that?”

Jon began to tremble, Martin could feel the vibrations running up his own arm. Jon took Martin’s hand in his own. It was bigger than his, soft, safe. Martin’s hands were something he trusted above anything else. He held on tightly to anchor himself.

“They, they er,” Jon was pointedly not looking at Martin, “they stripped me and covered me in moisturiser, I, don’t know how long I was sat bound and gagged and they came and untied me and held me and Orsinov declared they couldn’t fix my skin like that. She had me stripped and said how much my scars had ruined my skin and that it was my fault they were having to slather me.” Jon had begun to curl up again, shoulders shaking, “I didn’t want them to, I didn’t want, it didn’t hurt but I didn’t want them, there were so many hands and…”

The tears had begun to fall, Martin threw caution to the wind and closed the gap to hold Jon as he cried, one more hurt swallowed up by so many more was finally being allowed to be heard, to be acknowledged. Jon clung on with all his might, “I, I tried Martin, I tried to stop them, I did, I—”

Martin was, in a vaguely disconnected way, surprised he still had room to be horrified. He rather thought he’d seen it all but this, seeing Jon so devastated by something that was so far out of his hands was truly awful in a way that twisted him upside. Sure Jon had had to face a lot on his own but this was somehow far more personal given how private Jon was, they were together now and he’d not seen Jon in anything less than a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms at the very least, “Shh, Jon, Shh. I know, I know you did. They were monsters and there was just you. Even if you didn’t fight, even if you decided you didn’t want to risk being hurt any more than you already were you weren’t _letting_ them touch you, you weren’t _inviting_ them to assault you. This is not your fault. This wasn’t some sort of punishment. This was a sadistic doll wanting to hurt you as much as possible.”

“I didn’t want it.” Jon repeated, now he was talking he couldn’t stop, he needed to make it clear it wasn’t his choice, “I hadn’t been near people in so long, I’d had a few hugs from Georgie and The Admiral and I just missed human contact but they, with their hands, well,” He managed a rueful smile that broke Martin’s heart just that bit more, “be careful what you wish for I suppose. ”

Martin swallowed, feeling a familiar rage rise up in him, anger at how badly Jon had been treated, how they all had been abused by the fears that surrounded them, he drew back to make sure Jon saw his face, that he couldn’t misconstrue anything Martin said, “No. That’s not fair to you, of course you didn’t want them to touch you. No one would and I would never think that of you, ever Jon. Ever. It’s just another thing that’s unfair.”

Martin paused before adding quietly but full of conviction, “for what it’s worth Jon, I think you’re beautiful, scars and all, they show everything you’ve survived, everything you’ve beaten. I know you don’t like them, I know they make you think the worst of yourself but you’re still here. They’re a testament to your will to live, to beat these bastards and win. Please don’t be ashamed on my account.”

Jon blushed hard, his dark skin flushing at the heartfelt words and gave a whisper of a genuine smile, touched beyond the telling of it that Martin was here, that he cared so much even if Jon didn’t believe he was worth it. It gave him the courage to continue, “I don’t know why, after everything, this, this is something that stays. It shouldn’t be.”

“I don’t think we get the luxury of choosing what trauma we focus on Jon. Between the two of us we’re an all you can eat buffet for our brains to concentrate on.”

That surprised a hiccupping chuckle out of Jon.

“Well quite. Keeps things interesting I suppose.” he managed the hint of a smile.

“Personally I would like boring for the next fifty years at least.”

“Me too, that sounds rather wonderful.”

“Do you want to stay here or shall we make some tea?”

“I, I’d like, I—” Martin fixed him with a gently encouraging stare, they’d talked about this. They both had to articulate what they wanted without worrying about the other’s immediate needs and concerns. If that was an issue they’d of course talk about it but they couldn’t talk if the thought wasn’t voiced.

“I, want you to stay, here with me, just, just hold me again? Please? Just for a while. I want to carry on building better memories of people being close to me.” Jon finished before his words ran dry, draining in nerves and awkwardness. He was working on his stubborn pride and the idea that asking for closeness, for gentleness was not going to be thrown back in his face.

Martin’s face flooded with elation and relief, “Of course Jon, you know I’m always happy for that, if I’m honest, it helps me too. Knowing you’re here, with me. Reminds me that we’re both here together and safe.” The ‘and keeps the lonely at bay’ was left unsaid this time. Both of them already knew.

Martin settled carefully next to Jon and wrapped an arm around him. Jon’s lanky frame, all bone and angles was easily engulfed by Martin’s comforting arm, the scent of wool and tea driving the last vestiges of aloe vera from his mind. The Archivist turned to wrap himself fully around Martin, knowing that the pair of them needed the reassurance. He knew Martin was horrified that he’d accidentally caused this flashback but it was something Jon wasn’t even aware of, it wasn’t an exaggeration there’d been so much, it had just become part of the background static of horror, an ever-present hum of terror that filled his days.

Instead he focused on filling his senses with Martin, the feel of his jumper, the soft tea-filled scent of him, the sound of his breaths, the way he had a fond look that he saved just for Jon glowing at him.

Jon took his hand, clasping it tightly, “Thank you” he breathed, pouring everything he had into those two simple words. Martin heard him loud and clear.

Things may have been awful, things might continue to be awful but right here and now they had a chance to try to start healing together. Jon pressed a chaste kiss to Martin’s cheek.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Jon.” Martin beamed, he would never get tired of hearing Jon say those words to him and that he could return them in kind so honestly.

They stayed together for while, just enjoying the embrace of each other, the closeness they now were freely afforded and savoured it. Here, bit by bit they began to mend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks very much for reading, I honestly just wanted to address (at least in my opinion) what might of happened at the Circus and give Jon a chance to start to deal with some of that trauma. Basically, I want to give Jon and Martin every single opportunity to rest, relax acknowledge wat they've been through and have some proper comfort for once. I feel I should also note, I'm very lucky, I have never had to go through a panic attack so what Jon experiences and how Martin reacts is purely from me rather than this being based on any first hand experience or actual medical knowledge, if I have made any glaring errors please let me know and I will amend accordingly. 
> 
> The tagging is a bit heavy-duty on this one but I'd rather over-tag than under tag given the subject matter
> 
> If I could hug everyone in the archives I would. 
> 
> Also, the touch-starvation is real guys, I'm currently at seven and a half weeks with no contact, I have no idea how Jon and Martin coped for so long. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think, comments on my work are really keeping me going at the moment!


End file.
